


Alone

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Bad Templars (Dragon Age), Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, POV Alain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alain endured those “visits” for a while now. It’s alright, he tells himself… but you can only push a person so far before they snap.<br/>Set between Act 2 and Act 3, before the "Best Served Cold" quest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

The Starkhaven Circle was different from the one Kirkwall. Drastically.

Alain grew up in the Starkhaven Circle. It was the largest in the Free Marches, and it was beautiful. Tidy buildings made of light wood, polished, carved with elaborate floral designs; big rooms with lots of magical lanterns everywhere; there was a garden even, where the mages planted herbs for potions or decorations. Alain remembered that one big rosebush with the most lovable, delicate pink roses. The roses smelled so sweet the First Enchanter once presented a bouquet to the royal family, and the Vaels were quite pleased with the gift.

There was a fence, of course, solid and steady, made of stone and iron. But it was just a fence, after all; it surrounded the garden, barely visible behind all the green and brights. Alain used to walk around the garden just to see the flowers. He didn't try to peek outside: there was no point; he was content where he was. The city was scary, and the Cirle was safe.

Before it burned down, that is.

In Kirkwall, there are no flowers.

Alain sits on the bed in his chamber. His cell. It's past sundown, and the gray stone walls are cold. He sits in the dark - mages are not allowed to keep the lights on.

He is waiting.

It's better to be prepared, he tells himself. It's easier this way. Almost tolerable, almost... routine. Nothing to be afraid of.

Still, he's shaking. Could it be the chill in the air, or is it the nerves? Must be the air.

The door opens without a knock. Of course he doesn't knock, why would he? Templars go wherever they want to. Even if it is a mage's private cell.

"Ser Karras..." Alain whispers. He never lifts his head to look up, he doesn't need to; this isn't the first time.

The Templar sounds angry when he speaks.

"Have I given you permission to open your mouth? Keep silent, mage."

Alain bites his lower lip. It was unwise of him to greet his... guest. Yes, a guest; it's all right. He needn't be afraid. It's alright.

With an audible click Ser Karras locks the door. Trembling, Alain closes his eyes. It's alright, he repeats to himself, it's all right. If he keeps quiet, it will be alright. The Templar can take what he wants, either way, so it's better to let him willingly. This way, Alain won't get hurt... much.

"But you certainly do love using that mouth of yours, don't you," Ser Karras's voice is full of venom. "I saw you talking to that... friend of yours. Hawke."

The Templar spits out the name as if a nasty insect has crawled into his mouth. A shiver runs along Alain's spine.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Are you?" Alain can't see well in the dark, but his imagination is eager to paint the smirk spreading Ser Karras's lips. "Good, you should be. Now... if you show me proper remorse, I might consider softening your punishment."

The Templar comes closer. He's right in front of Alain, all but shoving his crotch in his face.

Alain gulps.

"If... if you allow me, Ser. I would... very much like to... express my sincere remorse."

"You have my permission to try," Ser Karras chuckles. "And watch the teeth, mage. I wouldn't want a pretty face like yours getting bruised."

The Templars's hands are bare, with no gauntlets in sight. This is good; if he truly wanted to hurt Alain, he would have kept the gauntlets on.

Undoing the belt is easy. Getting the robe is the tricky part: the armour blocks the way, but Alain is not allowed to touch it. The only way is to lift the robe just enough to dive under, but it's the worst: thick linen lets almost no air in, and breathing, obstructed as it is with the activity, becomes barely possible.

What else is he to do, however?

Alain slides from the bed to the floor. Standing on his knees, he obediently follows the procedure; the heavy smell of the man overwhelms him.

"Hurry up and get on with it," Ser Karras demands. "We don't have forever. I have bigger plans for tonight."

With trembling fingers Alain unlaces the Templar's underwear. It's... alright. He's not scared, he - he's...

He's terrified.

Shutting his eyes tight, Alain tentatively brushes the tip of Ser Karras's cock with his lips. Ser Karras responds with a loud, brusque gasp, and a demanding movement. And Alain opens his mouth (he wants to scream) and takes as much as he can (how can the Maker allow this?). A strange hot pull twists his guts as he sucks, choking and trying not to vomit. Right at this moment he wants nothing more than to push the man off and run away, away... But he has nowhere to run. He has to endure this.

It won't take long.

Finally, with a low groan, Ser Karras roughly thrusts his hips, and within seconds sticky bitter substance fills Alain's mouth. Gagging, he tries to swallow it, but it leaks, staining his chin. Coughing, Alain wipes his face with the back of his hand; he falls on his side when Ser Karras shoves him away.

Gasping for air, Alain rolls over to his back. The stone floor is cold as ice, but it's alright. It's almost over.

Ser Karras exhales.

"You're good with your mouth, mage."

Alain says nothing; he's yet to recover his breath. He feels used, dirty; disgusted with himself, he wants to hide in the darkest corner untill the darkness swallows him and everyone forgets a mage named Alain has ever existed.

But, of course, the Templar won't let him.

"Take off my armour."

Alain opens his eyes. The request is... unusual. Ser Karras had explicitly forbidden him touching the armour, what changed?

"Is... this your wish, Ser?" Alain manages to say. His throat is burning, and the voice comes out adequately husky.

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't!" Ser Karras sounds intimidating. He takes a step toward Alain - not to help him get up, no. It's a threat. "Now do as I say before I make you squeal like a pig."

Alain pulls himself together.

"Where should I start, Ser?"

Before the Templar can reply, a sudden scream pierces the night. They both recognize it immediately - a screech like no other, inhuman, it can only be caused by one kind of creature.

Ser Karras curses loudly.

"You mages just can't say no," he hisses. "Blighted abominations!"

The Templar's glare makes Alain's stomach drop; fear paralyzes him. He wants to crawl away, ultimately powerless in the face of the Templar's anger, but his body won't move. Ser Karras would not hurt him for something he didn't do, would he?

"Stay here," Ser Karras commands. "And don't get your hopes up - I'll be back."

Alain nods, unable to look away from Ser Karras's sword. Only when the Templar straightens his robes and walks out, closing the door, Alain sighs in relief.

Then it hits him: there is an abomination nearby. Somebody he used to know, then.

Again.

Can he blame them, though? Sometimes... sometimes he thinks about it, too. Just say yes to the never-ending whispers on the brink of his mind, say yes and make it all go away. Make Ser Karras go away, forever...

No. He won't lose himself, not for that man's sake. That man wants to break him, make Alain forget and obey mindlessly. They all want the same in the end, Templars and demons alike; obedient puppets. A Tranquil, an abomination - they might seem different to an outsider, but for a mage - is it really that different? Either way, you're dead inside, and your walking corpse is used by someone else.

There is something that makes Alain wonder, however, has been for a while. Ser Karras... he threatened to make Alain Tranquil more than once. Yet he didn't do it - why? Alain heard of situations like that. Maker, he witnessed it. Ser Alrik is especially infamous, but other Templars do it, too. Not Ser Karras, though. It's almost like the man takes pleasure in his victim's fear, rather than the physical contact; he wouldn't get that from a Tranquil.

Alain's uncertain if it scares him - or gives him some kind of twisted comfort.

Still, Alain notices himself slipping. He felt relief when he heard the screech of the abomination: he was glad it made Ser Karras leave him. Even if it meant someone else's death.

He finds himself harbouring a tiny hope the abomination will take the Templar's life - or, at least, damage him severe enough that no healing magic can restore him in full capacity. A silly thought, of course, an unkind one; Alain knows he shouldn't think like that. Yet, he can't help it. Not with the sticky mess staining his face.

He wants Ser Karras to perish, to disappear from existence. He wants him gone.  _Dead_.

When, a few minutes later, the door opens, Alain is still on the floor, unmoved.

"It's done." Ser Karras states, his sword bloodied, his hands and face burned badly. With a grunt of pain, he leans again a wall. "Clean me up. Others may come to investigate the noise."

"Do you require healing, Ser?" Alain asks, his throat tightening.

Ser Karras looks at him, eyes flashing in anger, and Alain shrinks, awaiting punishment. However, the anger fades, and Ser Karras's burned face twists into an unusual expression. It takes a moment for Alain to realize the Templar is smiling.

"You fight well against your corrupting nature, mage. I wish I could say the same."

"S-ser?" Alain whispers, suddenly terrified. Spirits can change hosts. What if...

Ser Karras takes a step forward, and Alain backs into a corner. There's no way a demon is getting him!

"You always resist," Ser Karras takes another step. His breathing is loud, heavy. "Look at me with those eyes... Do you even know? You're so beautiful."

Alain shivers.

"Ser, please. If you need healing..."

"I need you." The Templar is so close now. "Maker, I need you."

And he leans in. Alain opens his eyes wide as Ser Karras touches his face and puts his mouth against Alain's.

It's the first time he's bothered with such a thing.

The scorched beard tickles, and the man stinks of sweat and burned flesh.

Why is he doing this!?

A tongue invades Alain's mouth as soon as he parts his lips. Intrusive, dominating, this kiss is not even remotely pleasant; yet, it makes Alain's heart stutter for a second, and then it starts racing. The man is all but eating his face! It's disgusting! But his lower half, apparently, disagrees: his own crotch is on fire, and he can't choke back a moan when Ser Karras slips his hand under Alain's robe...

Then, as suddenly as it started, it stops. Ser Karras breaks the kiss and stumbles back, his face wry.

"You and your evil magic," the Templar mutters. "I swear, I'll make you Tranquil one day."

Alain bites his lips. Overwhelmed by fear and lust still throbbing in his cock, he makes an uncertain step toward the bed, then falls over it, flat on his face.

Ser Karras swallows audibly.

"I hate you, mage."

Alain shuts his eyes. Prayers come racing through his mind, but they bring no peace. _Blessed art thou who exists in the sight of the Maker... Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just... I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade, for there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light..._

"I hate you, Templar."

The words escape his mouth before he can think it through. For a moment, everything stays still.

Silence.

Then, his robe is torn, tossed aside carelessly. Alain yelps as his rear is handled roughly; a sharp cry of pain stifled at the back of his throat.

"I'll teach you how to talk back to me," Ser Karras almost growls in his anger.

He holds Alain's hips tightly; there will be bruises tomorrow. Alain does not struggle. He's tired. Let the Templar do what he wants, it doesn't matter.

Ser Karras groans and grunts, his pounding chaotic but heavy; despite the unresponsive recipient, he finishes quickly.

Alain digs into the matress. Let the Templar leave already. What more does that man need, anyway?

"Mage... Heal me."

Ah, yes. The burns. It's surprising how Ser Karras could ignore them so far, or at all. Was the pain fueling his lust? Or was it the aftermath of the fight, the memory of killing? Either is terrifying.

Alain looks at his hands. Then, he glances back, at Ser Karras.

Vulnerable. The Templar is vulnerable. His body exposed, his strength weakened, his sword dropped by the door, out of his reach. This might be a perfect moment... for what, though? Immobilize him, then call others for help? They won't help; the mages are as powerless as he is, and the Templars stick up for each other, they'd believe whatever lie Ser Karras feeds them, and Alain would end up punished. Pretend to gather mana for a healing spell, but cast a deadly one, then drag the Templar's body outside to make it look like the abomination did it?

"Mage," Ser Karras calls, his voice dangerously low. "Heal me."

Alain closes his eyes. His backside is all but burning from the rough ride, although it's not painful. In fact, Ser Karras was surprisingly gentle today. And, come to think about it, he hasn't struck a hit since the first time...

"I'm not afraid of you," Alain says, opening his eyes and looking straight at Ser Karras. "You're all talk and no bite, Ser. Those marks are the product of your own actions. Dealing with the consequences is your responsibility."

Ser Karras towers over him.

"My actions are my responsibility," the Templar mutters. "Yet, your actions are my responsibility, too. Whom would they blame, you think? Somehow, we Templars are always responsible."

"That's your job."

"And this is yours!" the Templar gestures at his face. "I said I needed you, mage, so heal me!"

"I will not."

_Smack!_ A slap stuns Alain for a moment.

"You worthless..." Ser Karras curses under his breath. But Alain is not afraid.

"Leave," he says. "Go away. I will not heal you."

"You will regret this," the Templar hisses.

"I have enough regrets already. Leave. Now."

There must be something in his voice that reaches Ser Karras even in his fury: with a curse, the Templar backs off. Alain watches as the man, casting a glare at him every so often, gets dressed. He's not intimidated: the newfound clarity wards away his fears.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Ser Karras promises. "I'll make you beg for my forgiveness."

Alain covers his face with his hands, forcing himself not to shiver.

No. No more fear. It's time to stand up and fight. Grace and others have being talking, and Alain has an idea. He hesitated to hurt an innocent person; but if "innocent" people stand by and let this happen, how _innocent_ are they, really? Time and again, another mage gives in to a demon to escape the crushing reality, or is made Tranquil, or gone "missing", violated, mutilated right in their cell, desperate, terrified... and those _innocent_ people turn a blind eye. Even Hawke, the Champion sworn to protect the citizens of Kirkwall, does nothing. Because _the mages are not citizens_.

No one will help him. And it's not alright. Not at all. He's at his guest's mercy - no, not a  _guest_ , not a  _visitor_ , and certainly not a  _lover_. A torturer, that's what Ser Karras is.

It can not go on. Things need to change. Alain needs to act.

The door opens, then closes again. The Templar has left. Once again, Alain is alone in his cell.

But he won't be alone tomorrow.


End file.
